The Desert Rose - Chapter 7

 Adios, Queen of the Night

Bergosa had brought the photographs and passport copies of the workers selected by Menon, to the hotel. Menon signed on each passport copy and photograph. “Please make sure not to send persons other than the ones whom I have selected. I will send them back if I find out that they are not included in the original list”

Bergosa nodded his head in acknowledging Menon’s instructions and warning.

A short nap and a cold shower refreshed Menon. He dressed up in his best and wore the perfume “Intimate” and walked out of The Hotel Majesty. It was his favourite perfume which made him very romantic always. Night was approaching like colourful and charming maiden. He walked along the pavement of the Marine Drive and sat on the wall. He turned towards the calm waters of the sea and sat with his feet hanging. The cool breeze sprayed salt water particles on to his shoes and pants. A fishy smell filled the atmosphere. He looked afar at the anchored ships, the lights blinking at him. A feeling of sadness engulfed him. He was missing his family. He reminisced the days with his mother and brother.

“Moong phali, Moong phali (Groundnuts, groundnuts)” the vendor’s voice brought him back to the present. His heart grew heavy. The waves became noisy, the splashing became continuous. The moon shone nonchalantly in the sky surrounded by a galaxy of stars. The roads carried human beings in various kinds of vehicles, each one on his or her mission, different from the other. Life continued at the city of hopes, dreams aspirations and vicious circles. The nightlife of Bombay had just begun.

Menon walked back to his hotel. He stopped thinking about his family and his thoughts concentrated on his future action. He collected the suite keys from the reception counter.

Melville De Mello was reading the 9 P.M. news in English over All India Radio, New Delhi. There was a knock at the door and Menon opened the door. Ashok Tandon was standing at the entrance with a pack presumably a bottle and a beautiful woman was on his right hand side.

“Meet Mr. Sreenivas Menon” he introduced him to her.

“I am Roshni, nice to meet you” she extended her right hand to Menon for a handshake. Her perfume was a special one; it spread in the atmosphere like wildfire.

“Please come on in” he invited them inside.

They sat on the sofa. As a ritual, Ashok opened the “Johnny Walker Black Label” whiskey bottle and poured into three glasses. The drinking session was on.

“Roshni was my colleague while we were working in the Eastern Airlines. She is an erstwhile air hostess of the Airlines.” Ashok explained and sipped the whiskey.

Roshni looked at Menon with lustful eyes that did not leave his handsome face. Menon was embarrassed and he could not fathom the purpose of Ashok’s visit with the woman.

Roshni was in her late thirties and was extremely charming. She never looked her age and her slim figure in the red sari would attract anybody’s attention.

Ashok ordered dinner with the Hotel Restaurant as the drinking continued.

When the dinner was over, Ashok said “Sir, I will just come within half an hour as I have to meet a client in the same hotel. You can chat for a while”

Menon then could put two and two together. He told Ashok “Look Ashok, I have to sleep early as my flight is at 4-30 A.M tomorrow morning. Please take Roshni with you”

Ashok said “Well, if you insist we will leave now”

“Good Night and thanks for the company” he told Roshni.

The planned seduction at the Majesty Hotel, never took place and Menon thanked his stars for getting out of the tentacles of the Lady in Red.

John Bergosa bade farewell to Menon at 3-00 A.M next morning at the airport. He thanked Bergosa and boarded the Kuwait Airways Flight to Dubai.

The Desert Rose - Chapter 6

Bombay, the Dream City

Adult content

He set foot on Indian soil which gave him a new pleasure. The waiting bus took him to the arrival terminal of the Airport at Bombay. The immigration Officer looked at him and then at the photo of his passport.

“Are you wearing a wig?” the perplexed officer questioned Menon.

Menon laughed and said “No please”. He pulled his hair and demonstrated that he had natural hair. He collected his luggage and rushed to the Customs counter. Officers wearing white uniforms and staring with hawk eyes were behind the counters. When it was his turn, the officer asked him to open the suitcase. His eyes fell on the Rado watch Menon was wearing.

His pupils dilated and he told him “you will have to pay Customs duty for that watch. It is Rado”.

“Well, you may please note about the watch in the passport. I shall carry it back on my return” Menon said.

With a disappointed look, the officer wrote on a page of his passport the details of the watch. The watch was presented to him by Ibrahim Fardan after the first three months of his service in the company. It was a valuable treasure for Menon.

He pushed his luggage trolley and came out. It was an ocean of people outside. The calm atmosphere of Dubai was just contradictory to the sight in front of him. The Ambassador and Fiat taxi cars looked like small bugs.

A gentleman carrying a placard written “Mr. Menon” was standing among other visitors. Menon waved at him. The gentleman shook hands with him and said “Sir, welcome to Bombay. I am Ashok Tandon”. He led him to a waiting Ambassador car.

Ashok Tandon was wearing pants and a transparent white embroidered kurta. He was about forty-five years old, with silver coloured hair and fluffy cheeks. The pouches below his eyes were moving up and down as he talked. It was 3-15 A.M on Friday morning and his breath was full of evaporated liquor.

“Sir, how are you?” he enquired to Menon.

 “I shall take you to my apartment at the moment and during the day I shall take you to your hotel suite.”

He opened a cigarette case with letters State Express 555 on the lid and lighted one. The smoke irritated Menon and he pulled down the glass shutter. Cold Bombay breeze freshened him up. As the car moved forward for some time, on to his left he saw the majestic Victoria Terminus in its eternal grandeur, an architectural marvel of the British Raj. The car rolled on well laid and neat roads and reached Flora Fountain and turned to the left. After a few hundred metres, it stopped at a residential block called Victory Apartments. Ashok’s apartment was on the eighth floor.

John Bergosa arrived at Ashok’s apartment at about 11-00 A.M. Ashok introduced Menon to Bergosa. The three of them travelled to Chembur, to a work site belonging to Rattan Singh and Company, the erstwhile employer of Menon. Engineer Jayaram greeted them and said

“Everything is set for the testing of the workers” as he led them to a covered yard where about three hundred workers seeking employment in the gulf, had lined up.

Menon announced to the workers to form four groups of carpenters, masons, steel fixers and helpers. By 4-30 P.M. the day’s selection of workers was stopped and the remaining workers were asked to come the next day, Saturday. Bergosa had arranged to shift Menon’s luggage to Hotel Majesty. He drove to the Marine Drive with Menon and Ashok and Menon checked in at Hotel Majesty.

The Hotel Suite was very cozy with a bedroom and a sitting room. Menon took a shower and went to sleep. The telephone rang at 7-00 P.M. “Sir your requested alarm, please” the operator’s voice was melodious.

“Thanks” and he hung up.

Ashok arrived at Hotel Majesty at 8-30 P.M. They had a preliminary round of drinks from the bottle which Ashok had brought. They got out. The weather was very pleasant and the cool breeze caressed Menon as they walked along the Marine Drive. There were people sitting and enjoying the weather on the dwarf walls as the waves dashed against the masonry breakers with a foamy icing. The moonlight added to the charm of the night and couples sitting with hands on shoulders, some snatching kisses, were enjoying the romantic atmosphere. Menon looked up and around and was mesmerized by the beauty of the night in Bombay, the royal metropolis, the city that always seduced its visitors.

When they entered the “Ashwan Night Club”, the belly dancer had just started to perform. A table was already reserved for them and the waiters saluted Ashok acknowledging his frequent visit to the club. The dancer had very little clothing on her. A thin cloth covered her loins and a narrow net tried to cover her breasts. Her movements were sensual and erotic as she gyrated around the tables with constant shaking of her feminine assets to the beat of the music.

The waiter brought a small bucket with a champagne bottle inserted in it surrounded by ice blocks. When Menon started to sip the sweet and sour royal drink, the already infiltrated whiskey in his blood imparted more intoxication in the company of the stream of champagne. His eyes reduced in size and he concentrated on the dancing damsel. When the dancer arrived at his table, she smiled at him voluptuously and sat on his lap pressing his loins with constant up and down movements of her buttocks. She caressed Menon’s cheeks with her breasts and she said “Hi handsome, want my phone number?”

Menon sat motionless. His blood rushed to one particular point with the touch of the woman and the champagne gave him good company.

The belly dancer enhanced the masculinity of every male in the clubhouse with her scintillating and alluring dance movements. Menon felt that he was in the seventh heaven. The dance stopped and the orchestra resumed. The male singer sang in the accompaniment of piano, saxophone, trumpet, bass guitar, Mexican guitar, and violin with the percussionist giving his best.

A lady, presumably Lebanese, came to Menon and asked him “May I have the pleasure of dancing with you, please?”

Menon was bewildered and said “I have never danced in my life”.

“That is O.K. I will teach you the steps” she said with a mischievous smile.

 She led him to the middle. She held him close to her in the dancing pose with clasped hands and started her steps. Menon nervously followed her and soon was able to cope up with the beats and the dancing. They danced to the music of “Last Waltz”. She pressed her body to his.

Her perfume is mesmerizing and her breath has the scent of peppermint. Menon realized how sensual the moments were.

Everyone watched them dance which imparted a romantic mood to the occupants around. There was non-stop applause when their dance stopped. Menon led her to her seat and said “thanks, you were great”

“You were amazing. You said you don’t know how to dance. You were dancing well and you made me wet. Now I need to go to the washroom. Want to come with me?” She said and winked.

Menon said”No, help yourself” and smiled.

“I did not know that you were a great dancer” Ashok complimented Menon.

“Well, I just followed her steps, that was all!” Menon smiled.

The intoxication from the liquor and the sensuality of the lady made Menon unaware of the time.

The Desert Rose - Chapter 5

India, the Motherland

After an eventful Friday, the day dawned on Saturday. The morning was very chilly. Menon was still in his bed and did not want to come out of the blanket. But he could not avoid the call of duty. At 6-30 A.M, he started his car. There was a dense fog spread all over the desert and the road was visible only for about fifteen metres ahead. He drove very carefully. The road was very dangerous. He took one hour to reach Ghusseli. Unusually, he felt hungry and he stepped into Khalifa canteen.

“What news Engineeyor?” Abdulla asked Menon in his own Malayalam style.

 Menon smiled and said “nothing particular”.

“Finish the villas fast so that I can earn a little more” Abdulla expressed his aspiration with a smile. There was sorrow in his smiling eyes.

“Surely Ikka….” Menon said.

Menon ate bread and a pair of eggs half fried with a cup of coffee.

When he reached the site, the work had already started.

Ibrahim Fardan was on site ahead of him. That was his usual habit. He was an early bird. They wished each other. From his facial expressions, Ibrahim was satisfied with the first day’s progress of work. Abdulla, General Foreman, greeted them with a smile. One of his canine teeth was golden and he was very proud to exhibit the same whenever he smiled. Ibrahim gave him some instructions and left the site.

Abdulla spread the layout drawing and discussed with Menon the course of action.

“We need to pour the first concrete latest by the day after tomorrow. You please make all arrangements” Menon instructed Abdulla.

“Insha Allah” Abdulla replied.

The labour quarters were getting populated all day and by the evening about one hundred and fifty workers would occupy the accommodation. But we will need at least another three hundred workers, Menon thought.

He discussed with Ibrahim about his labour requirement in the afternoon.

Ibrahim said “There should not be any problem. We have a group visa for two hundred Indian persons and I will arrange for the visa for another three hundred. I am going to the Ruler’s Office tomorrow and I will get the approval”

“That would be very fine” Menon said.

“On Thursday, you go to Bombay and meet the recruiting agent, John Bargosa. My friend Ashok Tandon will help you to find workers” Ibrahim said.

Ibrahim’s actions were always spontaneous. Menon felt happy as he would be going to India.

On Monday, preparations to pour the first concrete had been completed. The Consultants’ representative Engineer Jayesh Agarwal checked the layout and green signal was given to proceed with the concreting. Abdulla brought three goats. He took a knife and mercilessly slit the throats of the goats one by one. The animal sacrifice was for the smooth and successful execution of the work. Later, the meat was distributed among the workers.

Concreting was completed as originally scheduled and Menon was proud of the success of his plans. But the waling of the goats to death and the gushing blood haunted him the whole day.

Work continued in great strides up to 9-00 P.M every day. The site transformed itself into a busy construction arena. Rashid, the Purchase Manager arranged Menon’s flight tickets for Thursday evening by Air India, to Bombay.

Wednesday evening Menon went to Bur Dubai to make some purchases. As the Customs regulations in India had become very strict, he bought a few selected articles.

On Thursday, the Air India Boeing 707 taxied along the runway of the Dubai International Airport. It was 11-00 P.M. Menon looked through the windows. The jet engines produced immense noise as their blades rotated in uncountable revolutions and the wheels rolled on the apron with great speed. His heart beats increased as the aircraft rose to the skies. The ground looked slanting, as the aircraft gathered speed and elevation. The sweat slowly dried up from the youthful face of Menon.

The seat belts sign went off. A charming lady, a cabin attendant, asked him “would you like to have some drinks, sir?” She bought two measures in small bottles of whiskey with a glass and a bottle of soda. Menon started to sip the liquor. Whenever he flew, he would definitely have a few drinks to gather some Dutch courage.

The Captain addressed the passengers and wished them a good flight. As the liquor started to mingle with his blood, Menon’s flight fear vanished. Instead a new vigour and enthusiasm crept in him. He was very handsome with his long hair covering his ears, the fashion of the day. Every air hostess while passing his seat would invariably make glances at him and the liquor inside his body made his face look very red. The aircraft filled with smoke and vapours of liquor. The unruly behavior of his co-passengers disturbed Menon. He thought. They are spoiling the name of the country.   

His mind went back to his meeting with Baqer on Friday at his hut and the enticing laughter of that girl. He felt an unknown attachment to Baqer and the girl. He became curious to know about her.

Dinner was served by the cabin attendants. Menon ate with very good appetite. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep when the dinner was finished. The announcement of the air hostess that the aircraft was about to land at Bombay International Airport woke him up from his slumber and he fastened his seat belt.

The Desert Rose - Chapter 4

Gopiyettan

The fish biriyani from Al Hamra Restaurant was very tasty for Menon, especially after consuming two cans of Carlsberg beer at his quarters. His experience at the Bedouin hut that Friday morning was quite enchanting to him. He wrote a letter to his mother about the new project. He wanted to share his happiness with his mother and brother through the letter. At a stage, tears blocked his vision while writing, as he was missing all of them. The financial difficulties of his family were slowly vanishing as he was sending money drafts to them every month.

A nap of about one hour refreshed him. It was 5-00 P.M and he had a hot shower. Fernando arrived as usual with his bottle and started to pour the drink

“No, not for me. I have a dinner to attend at Gopiyettan’s”. Menon said

“The banker?” Fernando questioned. “How come Mr. Menon that you are still a bachelor at this age?” Fernando continued.

“Well! I don’t believe in marriages. I am not that old. I am just35.” Menon laughed.

“My mother used to tell me, God will choose a bride for you, so wait for that.” Menon continued.

Fernando left with his bottle.

Menon drove his car quite slowly enjoying the weather through the open windows. The weather was getting a little warmer as clouds were gathering in the sky. An impending winter shower was on the cards, and it would drop the temperature, he mused. He stopped at the Bur Dubai post office to post his letter to his mother. Indian and Pakistani workers were seen everywhere in their best dresses. At the Plaza cinema, a Hindi movie was being screened.

He drove through the Strand Cinema round about and turned towards Karama. Gopiyettan was staying in one of the small villas. When he knocked at his door, Gopiyettan opened the door wearing a dhoti and a thorthu (a piece of cloth) on his right shoulder.

He greeted Menon with his loving trade mark smile. On the centre table at the sofa set were glasses and a bottle of Dimple Scotch whiskey. He had already started drinking. He took another sip and started to pour some in another glass for Menon.

“Gopiyettan, not now please. I will have later” Menon pleaded.

“Nothing doing start Sreeni.” it was an order by Gopiyettan. He called him Sreeni always, in a very affectionate way.

Gopiyettan was a very senior manager in his bank and it was his fifteenth year of employment with the British Bank. He had come to Dubai during the time of the British. His family was always in Kerala. He was diabetic, but he would not care to control his alcoholism. He had wasted a lot of money on liquor. He had a liquor permit. He always wanted company to drink and he had a permit for buying liquor which enabled him to entertain his guests and himself with all kinds of alcohol. Bachelors would throng to him in most evenings for drinks and when they get married they would avoid him. That hurt Gopiyettan very much. Still he would not stop his habit of patronizing liquor parties.

Gopiyettan’s cousin, who was also staying with him, joined us. He was a great cook and that evening’s delicacies were prepared by him.

“Is the cooking finished?” Gopiyettan asked Unnikkuttan, his cousin.

He smiled and answered in the affirmative. His head was fully bald and small pox marks were seen scattered on his cheeks and forehead.

The drinking session continued. Menon was in a controlled state. So was Unnikkuttan.

“Ammu, serve the dinner. Where are you?” Gopiyettan was searching for her. Ammu was his wife’s name.

That was his usual behaviour when he was drunk beyond limits.

He spread the thorthu on his chest and started to act like a woman.

“Have you seen Kalyana Sowganthikam kathakali?” he asked them. “You know, I was trained at the Kalamandalam in Cheruthuruthy”. He started to move in steps of Kathakali movements as Panchali.

Unnikkutan said “Sreeni, we should stop now, let me arrange the dinner on the table.”

“Nothing doing. Unni do you think I am drunk? I am not. Pour one more for me. This is an order” Gopiyettan’s tongue was not in his control. His steps were staggering.

Menon said “Gopiyetta, let us stop and eat the dinner”

“Look, you are also like Unni. You think I am drunk. I am never drunk”. With that he fell on the sofa backwards.

Unni said “let him lie down for a while. Let us eat. I will wake him up later and make him eat.”

Menon felt so much pitiful for Gopiyettan. He could not enjoy the dinner. Unni made Gopiyettan lie properly on the sofa and covered him with a blanket.

Menon left the house. He drove carefully.

Another Friday was about to end during the winter season of a year of the late 1970’s at the city of Dubai.

The Desert Rose - Chapter 3

Friday, Friday, come again

Fridays were the only holidays in Dubai and the expatriates enjoyed them with great fervour and enthusiasm. Menon got up at 11-00 AM with a hangover of the previous night’s activities.  He had a cup of black coffee and got ready with a hot shower. He never took breakfast on any day. He dressed in his blue and white striped shirt and covered himself with a woolen coat. He was relaxed as it was a holiday. But his responsibilities were too many. He drove down to Ghusseli to check the excavation work. He parked his car and walked along the sand where the D8’s (D8 bulldozers) were working. The drivers had stopped work and had gone to the nearby mosque on the main road for the Friday prayers. There was good progress in the work.

Jasbir Singh, Foreman ran towards him.

“Sat Sri Akal, sirji” he wished Menon.

“Sat Sri Akal”, Menon replied. Menon was very happy to see that one row of labour accommodation was already completed and at the back, toilets and baths were being constructed with cement sand blocks.

“The shovel will be here by 1 O’ clock and I will dig pits for the septic tanks, sirji” Jasbir Singh said with much enthusiasm. Jasbir was his favourite foreman as he was very efficient and active.

“Tomorrow, we will complete the offices for the Consultants and you, sirji” Jasbir unfolded his plan for the next day.

Menon was much pleased with the proceedings. He walked back and passed the Bedouin huts. In one of the huts, an Arab, about seventy-five years old, was smoking Hookah. When he saw Menon, he waved at him saying “Thaal, thaal hini” (Come, come here).

Menon walked towards him. The hut was made of khajur leaves, both the walls and the roof. He was sitting outside on a cot. A camel was licking the back of its calf as the calf sucked milk from the mother’s udders.

“Salaam Aalaikum”, the Arab said. The Arab introduced himself in half Arabic and half Urdu. “My name is Baqer Ali Hussain. Please sit down Mohandis (Engineer)”. He offered a wooden chair to Menon. He was surprised how Baqer could know that he was the Engineer.

He said “Aalaikum Salaam. I am engineer Sreenivas Menon”

“I know you are the Engineer. Now I know your name” he laughed.

He brought a big circular receptacle in which there were dates, oranges, apples, grapes and various kinds of nuts and dry fruits.

“Please have” he invited Menon. His smile was very innocent. His lower teeth were stained and his beard was black and white. His Arab attire was brownish and his head wear was purple in colour with a stripes.

Menon knew very well about Arab hospitality which should be reciprocated with good participation in taking what they would offer. He started to eat some dates and nuts. Baqer went inside and brought a jug of steaming qahwah (a special black coffee) with a few small coffee cups. He poured the coffee in one of the cups and offered it to Menon. He drank the coffee and gave the cup back to Baqer. He filled it again and gave it to Menon. Likewise at least eight times Menon had to drink the coffee.

He told Baqer “it is enough”

Baqer laughed at him and said “if you don’t want more you should move your hand like this with the cup”. Baqer’s hand moved in a shivering action with the cup. “Like this” he said.

Menon had never known about that formality.

There was laughter from inside near the window, the laughter of a young woman. He looked towards the window. The aroma of Arabic perfumes filled the air. He saw a pair of beautiful eyes; the face was covered in a black veil. She disappeared as Menon looked at her.

“She is my maid. Gauri” Baqer said.

“I brought her from Hyderabad, India, five years back. She is a hardworking and good girl. I treat her like my daughter. I taught her how to dress and behave like a Muslim girl.” Baqer continued.

Menon was impressed my Baqer’s magnanimity. He is a very good sponsor. Menon judged him.

“And where is your wife?”  Menon asked him.

“I am unmarried. My orientation is different. You know what I mean” Baqer was frank.

Menon said good-bye to Baqer.

While driving back to Dubai, Gauri’s eyes were following him while her laughter was ringing in his ears.

The Desert Rose - Chapter 2

Thursday Night

At 4 o’ clock, he went to his office. Mr Ibrahim Fardan, one of the partners of the company, was waiting for him to know about the day’s developments. He showed the Demarcation Certificate to him.

“We need to arrange the D8’s from tomorrow. The site is full of sand dunes and we need to establish the levels from the benchmark from the Municipality points. Tomorrow, itself we need to start excavation for the first group of villas” the Engineer explained to Ibrahim.

“I have already asked Kuffiffi to arrange the same for you. They will work on Friday. We need to construct the labour quarters from tomorrow. Abdulla, the General Foreman will shift some workers. The purchase department is arranging 4mm plywood and the required white wood for you, by the end of today.” Ibrahim said.

“Alright. Today is the date of start of the project and we have six months to complete this eight million dirhams project. We will work twenty four hours and all days in the week” he told Ibrahim. “It is my goal to finish the project in five months”. His words were full of confidence.

“I hope for the best.” Ibrahim said.

“Yes, Ibrahim, it is a challenge. I love challenges”, he said.

“Good Luck, Menon” Ibrahim wished him.

Ibrahim always addressed him with his surname.

That Thursday evening was special to Menon. It was the start of a dream project, the largest project by his company. He was instrumental in getting the project awarded to his company, as he had tendered for the project with the most competitive rates. In fact M/s Tariq & Associates, the Consultants of the project had commented that the rates were very low and the Contractor might not complete the work on time. But Ibrahim’s influence in the Ruler’s Office fetched him the project after he had promised that he would complete the project on time.

Menon thought, I am three years old in this company and I know how to deal with such projects. I will finish the project before time with good profit to the company.

Fernando brought “Red Label Johnywalker” bottles for the evening. Fernando was the chief accountant of the company. Being a Goan, he was a very good cook. He took care of the kitchen and started to prepare his usual fried rice with sausages and tasty sauces.

Menon had a hot water bath and deposited himself on the black sofa set in front of the black and white TV. He switched on the Sony three-in-one player and inserted the LP record of Demis Russos. It started to play the song, “Good Bye My Love”

Meanwhile, Fernando opened a Johnywalker bottle and poured a large peg for Menon. He took two sips at a time, as Demis Russos continued his songs.

Menon thought about his family at home, back in India. It was the time of his first journey to the Gulf.

His mother was sobbing and told him “Take care of your health. Don’t worry about us, we will all pray for you, for your prosperity which will lift us from the thorny bed of poverty.” She wiped her tears with her sari.

He said “I promise you mother. We will get out of this situation”.

Menon’s heart ached to leave all his loved ones.

 “You are very slow this evening” Fernando said and poured another small peg of whiskey for Menon.

“Fernando, please change the record, Demis Russos is very sentimental and he is putting me off. Play El Bimbo by Paul Mauriat. Let me uplift my mood”. Menon emptied his glass in one sip. The pungent liquid spread fire to his throat and then travelled like lava down his gullet to his innocent starving stomach.

Abd El Halim Hafiz, the Egyptian singer, was on TV singing his famous song. Menon’s heart sank as the song spread pathos in the air. The intoxication level was rising and his eyes filled up.

Menon poured another small peg of the liquor. He splashed a few ice cubes into his glass and gulped the fiery liquid. His eyes were red and his actions were becoming involuntary.

“This is for your success in starting the new project” Fernando raised his glass in a toast.

It was 11-00 PM, when Menon started to drive his car to Deira. Fernanado was very confident as Menon was the best driver while drunk. A few Arab youths were hooting their car horns as they sped past on the al Maktoum Street. At the Deira Cinema, the night show was on. Chilly wind blew from the nearby desert and Fernando kept down the shutters of the car.

Being Thursday night, the Deira Restaurant was full with Arabs, local and expatriate. Menon and Fernando sat at a vacant table. A waiter with a pot tummy, an Egyptian, approached them to take the order.

Menon ordered the usual kababs with Lebanese bread, homuz and salads (Lebanese delicacies). 

While the food was eaten, the intoxication reached its azimuth for them and their eating went on uncontrollably. By the time they stopped, two dozen kababs had passed through their mouths full of saliva to their eating bags below.

Menon drove the car very immaculately with much more care than of a sobre person. When they passed the Clock Tower round-about, the needles of the clock showed the time as 2-00 A M, on Friday.

The Desert Rose - Chapter 1

 On to Bedouins’ Land

The Landrover travelled with a very slow speed on the Quarry Road. Their destination was the village of Ghusseli. They were surveyors from Dubai Municipality to demarcate the construction site for the building of eighty villas at Ghusseli which was forty kilometers away from Dubai, on the Al Ain road. The road was one lane with two halves one higher built of asphalt and the other one of concrete.

He drove his “Oldsmobile” car with care so as not to come in contact with the edge of the two halves lest the tyres should get damaged. There were camels, crossing at various points which were a very great danger on that road. Stretches of waste desert land of sand dunes lay on both sides of the road. The automatic car sped slowly following the Landrover. He inserted the gadget to play audio cassettes in the slot. The cassette of Boney M started the songs with their latest one, “Ma Baker”.

The road took a turn to the right. The Landrover stopped to catch up with him. They got down and ushered him to get down from his car and accompany them in the Landrover, as they had to traverse through fine dune sand. He parked his car on the right side and jumped into the back seat of the Landrover. The four- wheeler bumped over the sand dunes which gave him a very uncomfortable feeling as his stomach churned inside. They drove for about five kilometers through the sand. Many huts made of Khajur (Date palm) leaves were visible along the way.

“Bedouins”, the Egyptian Surveyor smiled at him. “They are the local Arab inhabitants, the original Arabs”. The surveyor explained in his Arabic covered English. Invariably at every hut, there were camels.

“They drink camel milk. That is why they are healthy and strong like me”. He rolled the half sleeves of his shirt up and showed his muscle to him with a roaring laughter. The Egyptian gentleman looked very innocent. The Landrover stopped. Everyone got down. The surveyor took out the surveying instruments and set up them for their work to start.

The winter sun’s rays were very pleasant. Chilly winds brought sand particles and pierced his eyes through the sides of his sun goggles.  There was a howling noise as the wind passed through the Landrover seats and the tarpaulin roof cover. He covered his ears tying a woolen cloth.

Three hours passed and Khalid, the Chief Surveyor came back to the Landrover.

“Khallas (over)”, he said.  “Mohandis (Engineer), I will show you the demarcated points” Khalid told him and he drove the Landover with the Engineer sitting along with him in the front seat.

“Look, these are the four corners of the first group of villas. You need to protect them with a concrete base around the wooden pegs”. Khalid advised him. Likewise he showed him all the points for all the eighty villas.

The Engineer looked at his watch. It was 1 O’clock in the afternoon. As it was winter there was no much thirst. Khalid asked the Engineer to sign a paper called “Demarcation Certificate”, which he did. From that moment the waste land bounded by the established points was his property, his company’s responsibility till the constructed villas were handed over to the Dubai Municipality.

Khalid dropped him at his parked car and said “Mashkur Mohandis (thanks engineer)” and said good bye.

The Landrover sped back to Dubai. The Engineer got inside his car and reversed it. He was feeling hungry. As he drove, he looked to the left side for any restaurants. At the intersection of a Strategic Camp, he spotted a restaurant, “Khalifa Canteen”. He parked his car and went inside the restaurant.

A few Bedouins were sitting around a table and drinking “Sulaimani” (tea without milk). As usual, the owner of the restaurant was a Keralite.

The Engineer thought of having a full lunch and ordered Porottas (a kind of wheat preparation) with mutton chaps (mutton curry). He was very hungry and in no time he ate three porottas. He took a cup of tea. The owner had put ample sugar and milk in the tea for the Engineer.

The Engineer paid money and took leave of Abdulla, the owner of the restaurant.